“Of course it is!”
Milo appeared behind Logan and reached for her clutch that sat behind her on the table. He leaned in closer, his heavy eyes dropping to the sliver of black lace peeking out from under the ridiculously low neckline of her red dress.
“What’s up, Arizona?”
“My eyes.” She adjusted the dress, pulling as much of the fabric over her cleavage as she could. His lips spread into an absolutely evil grin as he retrieved the flask from her bag.
“You like?” He took a swig and tucked it back in.
“Yeah, what is it?”
“Local shop. My brother works with them from time to time.”
Hanna pushed her chair back in and he handed her the clutch. He wore all black, a look that did something absolutely tragic to her nerves.
“What are you drinking?’’ Logan asked.
She waved her hand. “Bourbon, you wouldn’t like it.”
“And you would?”
“She’s broadening her horizons,” Milo said, his syllables slipping and sliding.
Two hands landed on the small of her back at the same moment. Milo and Logan both pulled their hands away as if they’d touched a hot stove.
“Oh, good fucking lord,” she muttered.
“So let me just understand the lay of the land here,” Taylor screamed at her over the thick bass of what might have been the seventh Pitbull song to play since they'd arrived at the nightclub. “Logan is single and clearly trying to make nice. Milo is single and definitely trying to fuck you. And you’re over here with me when you could be grinding up on either one—or both—of them?”
Hanna nodded. “Nailed it!”
“Okay, two things. One, I am so proud and also so disappointed. And two, they’re both heading this way.”
Taylor turned her back and ordered another drink at the bar, but Hanna knew she would be listening to every word. Milo squeezed behind her—tapping her hip as he did—and landed next to Taylor against the sleek black bar top.
“What do you want to drink?” Logan asked, his messy blonde hair longer than she’d ever seen it before. Definitely single.
“Don’t buy me a drink,” she insisted.
“I want to! A peace offering.”
“That’s sweet, Lo, but we don’t need it. Let’s just agree to be friends, okay? No more rehashing the past.”
Milo dropped a glass of something on the rocks over her shoulder. Logan’s eyes slid from the drink in her hand to the drink in Milo’s, and whatever math he did, he didn’t like.
“Friends?” Logan asked.
“Yes, Lo. I’m tired of being enemies.”
“Fine! Okay. But friends dance, right?”
“Oh,” she said, glancing frantically at Taylor.
“I’ll hold your drink, babe! Go nuts!” Taylor grinned and collected glasses from them like trading cards, lining them neatly in a row on a high-top table. Hanna loved her, but in that moment, she could have strangled her.
“You too, big guy!” She pushed Milo—who seemed a little too pleased—in their direction.
Hanna followed Logan toward the dance floor where Sara and Matty had been circling one another for at least thirty minutes. The only person who loved drunk dancing more than Sara was Matty.
